They Were Only Shadows
by Taiven
Summary: Various stories involving those few individuals who could call themselves a friend of Dean Winchester. Set before the series and ranging over twenty-two years, each story somewhat explains how Dean was shaped and molded into the man he is now.


**Summary: **Various stories involving those few individuals who could call themselves a friend of Dean Winchester - Leo in preschool, Zack in the bar, Lora in grade 6, Sampson, Justin, and Winter in high school, Charlie in the hunt, Mark in the line of fire, and Mercedes in his mistake - the ones lost in the memories. Set before the series, ranging over twenty-two years and written in a variety of styles, each story somewhat explains how Dean was shaped and molded into the man he is now.

**Timeline**: Ranges from when Dean was a child to a young man

**Rating: **M

**Warnings:** Foul language, drug use, violence, sensitive themes, and sexual content included in some stories.

* * *

><p><strong>THEY WERE ONLY SHADOWS <strong>

Leo

There was no way to measure the time. At least not for Dean. The circular device hanging on the wall meant nothing to him. Neither did the blank page lying on his desk. His attention was focused fully on the bright, orange crayon gripped firmly in his small hand.

He could have chosen the lime green or the midnight blue, the tulip purple or the snowy white. But he had chosen this one, fiery orange, because this was the colour that reminded him of that night. The night he had last seen his mother. The night he had been saved by his father. The night he had made a promise. The night which still felt so unreal.

How long ago was it? He had never asked. He had never spoken, not after. Only to whisper those five words. _"I'll always protect you, Sammy…"_ He didn't feel much like talking since that night. And now there was no way to measure the time.

"That's a pretty colour, Dean." The voice ripped through his memories as he looked up to stare at Ms. Thomas. Wavy brown hair framed the young woman's face as she smiled, pink lips curling upwards but the expression never fully reaching her eyes. The new teacher, wearing a fuzzy pink sweater and white pants, bent down to become level with the young boy. "But you haven't drawn anything with it yet."

Taking the crayon gently from his hand, she placed it on the white construction paper and began to draw. "How about we make a sun? A bright orange sun." A circle appeared on the paper and Dean watched as Ms. Thomas began to scribble it in, the vivid colour filling the space. Lines sprouted from the circle as the teacher drew them, long and wavy. They reached out across the paper, devouring the white hungrily and replacing it with bright orange. They reached out to him.

He grabbed the crayon from his teacher's hand, hurling it across the room where it hit the wall and landed on the carpet with a small thud. Throwing his hands over the paper, he covered the orange, crumpling the sheet as he did so. The expression on Ms. Thomas' face was that of pure shock, but it quickly transformed into irritation.

"Dean, that was not nice," she scolded, and he stared down at the top of his desk. "Look at me," she demanded, and he obeyed, tears appearing in his hazel eyes. "You are going to pick up that crayon and then apologize," she said sternly. "There's no need for tears, Dean. You know what you did was wrong."

Getting up from his chair, the tears now sliding freely down his cheeks, Dean walked across the room. He could feel the eyes of his classmates as they watched, silence enveloping the area, and he was thankful for the long blonde bangs hiding his face. His feet stopped as they reached the crayon lying innocently on the grey carpet. As he bent down and reached for it, a tear fell onto his hand, the wet drop warm on his skin.

He knew what he did was wrong. He didn't save mommy. He let her be taken away by the hot, bright lights. He let down daddy. He knew what he did was wrong, but he could never apologize. No matter how much he wanted to.

/

"I'm Leo," the boy with the bandage on his forehead stated. He was sitting across from Dean, his legs swinging above the floor. "What's your name?"

Dean didn't answer, staring down at his own feet as they hung motionlessly, his torn sneakers staring back. He didn't feel like talking. He would have explained that to Ms. Thomas, but instead he had remained silent. She had asked for an apology but he had been unable to give her one. So now he was sitting within the main office, the boy across from him still vigorously swinging his legs as he continued to speak.

"I was running in the halls. You're not allowed to run in the halls but I did. That's why I'm here. How 'bout you?"

Dean continued his silence, but this did not seem to discourage the boy from asking another question. "Did you know I got this-" Dean didn't see what he pointed at, but he guessed it was the bandage on his forehead. "-from falling out of a tree? I was climbing a _gigantic_ one two days ago, and a branch broke and I fell _all_ the way down."

Dean raised his eyes to finally look at the boy. Messy black hair stuck up oddly from Leo's head, freckles covering his nose and cheeks as they bulged from the smile planted on his round face. He thrust his chest out proudly. "I got seven stitches."

A door to the right suddenly opened and an older woman appeared. Dressed in a beige, frilly skirt and a white blouse, she looked in Dean's direction. Upon finding the boy staring back, shoulders slumped and eyes still red and puffy, she gave him a sympathetic smile. "Dean Winchester?" she called, and he silently slid from the chair and trudged past the woman and into the principal's office.

With a soft click the door shut and Dean stood awkwardly in the space. The woman turned around and, noticing Dean's discomfort, said, "You can sit in the chair if you'd like." She motioned to one of two chairs positioned before a large oak desk but he remained standing. With a sigh she kneeled down, her skirt spreading softly around her. Dean stared at his untied shoes.

"I've called your father. He'll be here as soon as he can," she announced, and the boy nodded his head once. "I know you feel bad, Dean. You miss your mom. Ms. Thomas didn't know the…circumstances, but she has been told, so next time she'll understand. She knows you were sorry."

There was a soft knock and the woman stood up, another sigh escaping her lips as she opened the door. A young girl stood in the entrance. "Mr. Winchester is here, ma'am."

"Thank you, Angela." Turning around, she gestured for Dean to follow her out of the room, and together they entered the main office once more. Dean spotted his dad by the chairs, the large man looking down at the boy swinging his legs. "I got seven stitches!" Dean heard Leo say proudly.

"You must have been scared," his dad replied.

"Not at all! I was trying to speak with the birds. I wanted them to teach me how to fly."

Dean could see the flicker of a smile on his father's lips, a rarity since that one night, and he found himself slightly smiling too as he neared the chairs. "Mr. Winchester?" the principal called. His dad turned his head and the smile immediately vanished as he caught sight of his son. "I'm glad you could come," Ms. Kale continued in a tired voice. "There was simply a misunderstanding in the classroom involving your son. Everything is fine but I think it would be best for Dean if he took the rest of the week off. I'm not sure if he's quite ready for school at the moment."

"Thank you, Ms. Kale," the man said in a deep voice as his son came to stand next to him. "I'm sure he'll be ready soon." Ms. Kale smiled but Dean could hear the rawness in his father's voice. Without another word he led his son out of the office.

"Goodbye," Ms. Kale called after them, followed by a child's voice.

"_Goodbye, Dean_!"

/

Sammy was just where he had left him, sleeping soundly in his crib. The baby's chest slowly rose with each breath his small lungs took in, and Dean watched as his little hands curled inwards. He wondered if Sam was dreaming, but determined that babies were too young to dream.

His father's voice suddenly called from the kitchen, and turning from his sleeping brother, Dean rushed out of the cramped room and hurried to the man. The apartment the Winchesters currently lived in was tiny compared to their old home, but according to what Dean had heard in a conversation between his father and another man, it also had a cheap rent. A colleague of John had offered it to the family of three after the incident and promised they could remain within it until they completely recovered from their loss. Dean thought that was silly. They'd be here forever then.

The kitchen was located only a wall away from Sam and Dean's room. Dean had demanded he share his bedroom with his little brother, never seeming to want to part from the baby's side, and John had agreed. He had looked at his oldest son with a faint smile on his lips when Dean had asked this of him, but now there was no softness in his expression.

The man was sitting at the tiny kitchen table, muscular arms crossed before him and resting on the fading, wooden top. As Dean appeared he motioned with a sway of his head for him to sit, and he silently did so, clambering on top of the other chair. The boy looked at his father with expectant eyes, watching intently as the man sighed and ran a large hand through his dark hair.

"Listen Dean," he spoke, eyes lifting to meet the hazel eyes of his son. "I know you don't feel much like talking, but I've got to say something right now, okay?"

Dean nodded his head.

"You can't keep this up forever. Silence never did anyone any good, understand?"

Another nod.

"So I want you to try speaking from now on. When your teacher asks you a question, I want you to answer her. All right?"

Dean once again agreed.

"No, Dean. I want you to say 'all right'. Say it now."

Dean was silent.

"Dean, what did we just talk about? Say 'all right'."

John's voice was rising, anger clearly visible in the harsh lines of his face, but Dean still did not say a word.

"Goddammit, answer me!" Standing abruptly, John's chair went skidding backwards, clattering into the wall behind him as he yelled. Dean was horrified, wide eyes staring up at his father, his image changing from the good natured man he once was to the angry man he now seemed to be. The sudden transformation brought tears surging to Dean's eyes, and John let out a frustrated sigh as he hung his head.

"I'm… I'm sorry, Dean," he apologized, eyes shut in aggravation. "Never mind what I said. Go get you and Sammy ready for bed."

And with those last words, the boy slipped from the chair and made his way back to his brother's side, unaware of the tears that had formed in his father's eyes.

/

Leo was running in the halls again. There were no teachers to scold him this time, and Dean was startled as the boy rounded the corner and almost knocked him to the ground.

"Sorry," Leo apologized with a huge grin on his face. The bandage that had been placed on his head only last week had been removed, leaving a visible gash surrounded by dark bruises on his forehead. He seemed to catch Dean's stare as he examined the cut, puffing out his chest again as he said, "I got the stitches removed just yesterday!"

Dean nodded a little unsurely, wondering if his three minute washroom break was almost up, not really caring if Ms. Thomas was angry when he returned to class. He suddenly realized that Leo was looking at him strangely, thin eyebrows knitted in a perplexed expression.

"You don't talk much, do you?" Leo asked, tilting his face to the side. Dean shook his head. "Well that's all right. We can still be friends." Dean returned his own perplexed expression at Leo's words, but the other boy was already tearing down the hall. "Bye, Dean!"

/

Sam was crying. His tear streaked face was pink as he called out with all his might, tiny hands curled into tiny fists. Dean watched as his dad tried to soothe him. "It's all right, Sam," his father cooed. He patted the baby's back gently as he paced across the room, but the child kept on bawling.

Dean realized his dad was quickly losing patience. He was already late for work and the babysitter had called in sick. Dean continued to sit on the couch as his father groaned in frustration. "What do you want, Sam?" he asked his youngest son, not really expecting an answer but receiving one in the form of a fresh batch of tears.

The phone rang, only adding to the noise filling the cramped apartment, and Sam was suddenly thrust into Dean's arms. "Hold him for a second," was John's command as he went to answer the phone. Dean looked down at his baby brother and listened to his father speaking. It was a call from work, the repair shop, asking why he was not there.

The conversation quickly ended and John returned to his current crisis. But the room was quiet now. Sam was cradled gently in his brother's arms, the two boys completely still. John let out a sigh. "He wanted his brother."

/

He had used the bathroom excuse again. Of course he knew his teacher would soon catch on but it worked for the moment. Dean couldn't stand school, and he took advantage of every opportunity he had to get away from his class. His schoolmates had no clue. Not even the teacher did. They had no idea how he felt, and personally, he liked it that way. It made things easier. Questions could be avoided. Excuses could be made.

They _thought_ they knew how he felt but they didn't really. That's why they let him get away with things, put up with his lack of words, but he did these things for different reasons then they expected. He couldn't apologize, no matter how hard he prayed for a chance to, and if he couldn't say sorry, that one simple word, then there was no point in saying anything else. That's just the way he felt.

He was walking towards the washroom when Leo poked his head out of an open doorway. "Dean," he called in a loud whisper, catching his attention immediately. "Come look at what I found!" And then he was gone again, disappearing into what appeared to be a storage room. Dean followed hesitantly, standing partially in the doorway as he watched Leo stand proudly by a cupboard located under a counter.

"It's my secret hiding spot. Come see it!" The two wooden doors opened as the boy pulled the plastic handles, revealing two cans of paint and a crusty paintbrush. Other than that, the space was empty. Leo crawled in, motioning for Dean to follow. "Close the doors behind you," he commanded as Dean sat next to him within the large cupboard.

The two boys were cast in shadows as the doors closed. They sat in silence for a moment before Leo abruptly broke it. "Isn't this the greatest hiding spot ever?" He asked, his voice bubbling over with childish excitement. "I've only used it twice before, and Mrs. Kinsley hasn't been able to find me yet. She said she'd call my parents next time I ran off but I don't care."

Dean nodded, unsure if Leo would be able to see his acknowledgment in the dark, but the boy was already speaking again. "Sometimes I imagine this is a cave. A deep, dark cave that just keeps on going forever." Dean tried to imagine it too but found the crack of light between the cupboard doors a little distracting.

"Does your dad ever cry?" Leo asked unexpectedly in a small voice, hugging his knees to his chest. But he didn't seem to want a reply, immediately speaking again. "Sometimes I hear my mommy crying. I don't know why she cries, but I think it's because of my dad. They fight sometimes."

Now he turned his head and looked at Dean, his eyes wide and glossy. "Did your mommy and daddy ever fight?" Dean shook his head. "Your daddy never hit your mommy? Never yelled at her real loud?" Again Dean shook his head no, and Leo returned his gaze to the cupboard door. "Oh."

The two small boys sat in silence for a while, both recalling their own separate memories. The sound of footsteps came and faded, their hiding spot still safe from prying eyes. Dean was thinking about a moment that occurred a while ago; the day he first saw his baby brother. His dad had come to get him at school, entering his classroom and speaking softly with his teacher before Dean was allowed to gather his stuff and leave.

On the drive home his dad had not been able to stop smiling. "We've got a big surprise for you, Dean. You're finally going to be able to meet your little brother." Dean had found himself grinning as well. He had been beaming all the way home, and that's where he first met him. Little Sammy, cradled in his mother's arms as she sat on the couch. It may have been the best day of his life.

The memory was suddenly interrupted by sniveling to his side and washed away by the darkness filling the interior of the cupboard. Dean turned his head and saw the hazy outline of Leo, face resting on his knees as his shoulders shook. He didn't know what to do. A frown gripped his face as he imagined the memories Leo must have recollected. Dean's parents had never fought. He couldn't envision what that would have been like.

Leo sniffed loudly and suddenly his voice returned, confident once more. "I'm not going to cry anymore," he said angrily. "I can't cry because tears are no good. They don't protect you. They never protected my mom." Dean could see the boy's shoulders tense with his words. "I need to protect her. No more crying. I need to be strong. For her."

Wiping his eyes fiercely, Leo pushed open the cupboard door and crawled out. He stood still for a moment, only his legs visible to Dean, but suddenly bent down. "You can stay in there for as long as you like," the boy said, eyes slightly puffy. "But when you come out, maybe you could try talking. No more quiet."

And with those last words he closed the cupboard and Dean was cast in darkness once again. There was the sound of small footsteps but they quickly faded away, leaving the space silent. Dean didn't know how much time passed. There was no way to measure the time. It could have been only minutes before he pushed open the cupboard and crawled out himself, or it could have been a lifetime.

/

Placing a tiny hand on his father's enormous one, Dean looked up at the man's face as he sat, shoulders slumped, in the kitchen chair. "I won't cry daddy." He said softly, and John looked slightly surprised at his son's newly found voice. "I'll be strong. For Sammy and for you. I'll protect our family."


End file.
